


Perchance a Parchment

by ardentmuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confusion, F/M, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Letters, Love Letters, Love at First Sight, Meet-Cute, Mistaken Identity, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Romance, Unrequited Love, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, You've Got Mail AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-15 17:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardentmuse/pseuds/ardentmuse
Summary: After your owl decided the proper destination for the note intended for your best friend is Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, you find yourself in an anonymous romance with the man of your dreams. But little do you know, he is also the owner of that obnoxious new joke shop just down the street from your store, the one that is slowly putting you out of business. You've Got Mail, Shop Around the Corner AU





	1. Part 1

“Oy, Georgie! You gotta come see this,” Fred screamed from the first floor of their shop. 

George could hear the commotion clearly from where he was sitting at the top of the spiral stairs, buried under a stack of papers in the circular room that worked as a makeshift office. He imagined for the previous owners, this might have been a place to keep the most valuable wares, to walk the wealthiest customers up the long helix until they felt intrigued by the exclusivity offered only to them. The tall wood-paneled walls were lined with glass cases, now filled to their brims with potions ingredients, meticulously labeled and sorted; each box for a different best-selling product and an entire case for “experiments.” But for George, even the amount of order he and Fred managed was not enough to keep up with the chaos that was his mind. The business was expanding at an alarming rate and it took almost all of George’s energy to simply keep up the books, let alone the supply and creation of new, innovative products. 

He’d have to hire a new cashier soon, and maybe even an accountant. But the prospect of interviewing made him a little bit nauseous. More to do. Always more to do. 

“Georgie!” Fred screamed again. 

With a sigh, George closed the giant tome that was functioning as a legger. He checked his reflection in the glass for just a moment -- you never know when a beautiful woman might decide to stop in -- and with a quick adjustment to his vest, he descended the stairs. 

As the shop came into view below him, colorful shelves and school children running all around, collected in corners and laughing with their friends, it wasn’t very hard to find what had Fred in stitches. A young boy, at least he presumed he was male, had hair growing wildly all around his neck and each time he tried to speak to George’s twin, who casually sat upon the counter overlooking an adoring crowd of youngsters, his voice came out as a purr or a roar; a little lion in all but body.

Fred turned to his brother and smiled. “Combined those jelly beans and the shape-shifting gumdrops you released last week. Wish we would have thought of it ourselves.” 

And with that, Fred jumped onto the counter and reached into his pocket. He examined the candies within and with a quick decision, tossed two George’s way.

“Ready for some fun, Gred?” 

With the eager eyes of the children and the cheshire grin of his brother upon him, George left the mounds of paperwork behind him in exchange for some mischief. 

“After you, Forge, my good sir!” George called as he too hopped up on the counter, the crowd around them growing ever stronger. 

“Now, friends, don’t try this at home,” Fred said, to which George followed up, “Yeah, wait until you get to school. Give ol’ Minerva a show for us, won’t ya?” 

 

And that was what you saw as you walked back to your bookstore as the sun began to set. Not George Weasley, the wonderfully brilliant mastermind behind new and amazing treats, the skilled bookkeeper and investor, the hilarious and bright man who found such joy in his work and his family, and the soft and caring brother who always knew the right things to say to make anyone smile. No, what you saw was a self-obsessed fool standing on a countertop with a face vaguely resembling a seal as he tried to balance massive gumballs upon his snout. You saw only a man who was fueled on the adoration of others and on creating chaos for the sake of chaos, running a shop that was so popular it was encroaching on the entirety on Diagon Alley. 

You looked on only for a moment, at the bright yellow lights of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, like a beacon to children of the joys within. And you thought just maybe that strangely beautiful pompous Weasley brother met your gaze just before you continued your journey to your humble shop down the road. 

 

“You okay, George?” Grizzly bear Fred asked his brother. But George didn’t really hear him. His eyes were intent on the street just outside. Bright eyes, the brim of an adorable nose, and the shine of a maroon cloak in the setting sunlight consumed his vision, but not more than the saddened pout on that near perfect face, a perfect face that slipped into the crowd of busy commuters and was gone as quickly as it came.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah,” George said after a moment. “Just--”

“A pretty face?” Fred asked with a wink. Immediately, George began to blush, or at least he thought he was. It was hard to tell with the strange texture of his skin at present. 

“Prettier than Angie’s?” Fred asked later that night as they locked up the shop. 

George sighed, “You know that’s over, Fred. Please stop bringing.” 

As Fred clicked off the last of the lights, he addressed his brother who was already halfway up the stairs towards their apartment. “Maybe if you’d gone on a single date these past four years, I would. Speaking of which, I’m meeting Lee at the Leaky Cauldron if you want a crack at getting back in the game?” 

George laughed, “Lee’s not really my type, mate. Have fun.” 

George heard Fred screaming, “You’re not going to find that pretty face in our apartment, Georgie. At least not until you invite her up yourself.”  
And George shut the door to their suite before he could hear any more of his brother’s silly encouragements. Thought George knew he was right, he had more pressing things to focus on at the moment. Romance could come much later. If this woman was perfect for him, she’d be perfectly fine waiting until the business was settled. 

Though he’d been saying that to himself for years now…. Would things ever settle or had he and Fred opened a can of worms that would consume their lives forever? 

 

That night, in your apartment over your shop just ten doors down the way, you also laid in bed contemplating the same things. Years now you had been with the same person, the man you thought you’d marry someday if things kept going as they had when you first started up. But they hadn’t. Thomas was still your dear friend, and you owed him so much for helping you transition to life in the UK, but the passion was completely gone. You were both going through the motions, you knew, neither of you willing to say the words to end it for good. 

Passion. When you first opened your shop, you were so excited about bringing fiction to the lives of the wizarding community. All the books shop you had seen only sold textbooks and reference literature. Occasionally there was “fiction” masked as memoir, but a proper narrative was lost on adults. You wanted to expose witches and wizards to adventure, horror, humor, and romance. You even brought in books from muggle communities. You had a robust section for children and a daily storytime that was widely attended, mostly due to your impressive use of magic to create visuals and voices to go with each story. But sales were questionable. You loved what you did but it wasn’t necessarily sustainable. The landlord was already on you about a potentially having someone else willing to pay a higher price for the space. If that were true, you may have to kiss this dream goodbye. But then what would you have left? Thomas who hadn’t kissed you with love in months? 

At least you had a good group of friends who’d let you crash on their couches until you figured out your next career move. The Weasleys had a help wanted sign up still, didn’t they? You laughed at the thought of working for those pompous fools. 

But speaking of friends, you lifted yourself out of bed and lit the candle upon your desk, waking Diomedes, your owl, and penned a letter to your longest and dearest friend. 

 

The following morning, George insisted on now interruptions. He needed several hours in the office to get up to date on the books before they met with the realtors next week to discuss expansion. 

And as lunch time came and went, George had almost actualizing the previous month when he heard a strong and insistent banging at the window just beside his desk. He pulled his head away to see a tawny owl, more cream than brown, with a long piece of parchment tied securely to his ankle. The owl tilted his head, asking to be let in. George obliged his request. 

Immediately, the owl swooped in and positioned himself on the end of the desk, his leg in the air to be plucked of the parchment. He didn’t recognize the bird. Maybe Ron got a new bird through work or Ginny is using one from a local owlery while she’s in tournament play. 

“Someone trained you well, little mister,” George said to the animal. As if hearing him, the bird screeched and flapped before settling back against the bookshelves in the far corner of the room, clearly awaiting a reply. 

And so George opened the scroll, expecting the opening line to explain the unfamiliar bird but instead he found a note in pleasant script addressed to a, “Peaches.” 

_Dearest Peaches,_

_I’ve been thinking a lot about those nights you and I spent in your clubhouse during summers as children. We would talk about how we wanted life to be when we grew up. I remember each night was a different elaborate story. We would start a band and travel the world performing in every tavern and pub in the wizarding world until someone took us seriously. We’d buy a house in the hills of the Pyrenees and catalogue all the creatures that hid within. We become two of the greatest aurors the world would ever know and tear down dark wizards around the world, maybe hunt vampires and werewolves too. We’d marry brothers so we could be sisters-in-law and have a brood of children who’d be best friends. We had so many dreams._

_Did you ever notice that we never simply imagined being happy? Each story was always about doing something grand. All the small moments of life -- the lunches with friends, the Christmas dinners with family, the books we’d read and the vacations we’d take -- were completely left out. But isn’t life just a series of small moments? Does there have to be a grand adventure, a great love, an epic quest, to make this life meaningful? Or can we just exist? Can we just be two people happily moving forward each day?_

_Don’t get me wrong. I want passionate love. I want harrowing escapades. I want tales to tell. But more than anything I want to wake up each day to something that makes me smile and fall asleep to the same. And I feel like I am just getting there..._

_I hope today you find something to make you happy, my friend._

_Yours,  
Cherry_

As George read the words, he felt he could anticipate the next sentence. Had he not wanted the exact same thing as a child. He pictured sitting with Fred in their beds, pushed together despite mum’s protests about how to doing so would scuff her floors, and plotting the trajectory of their lives. Dragon-taming with Charlie or curse-breaking with Bill or playing quidditch for England’s team as they won the World Cup. But now, as adult life was settling in, he was realizing he was much more fulfilled by the smiles he put on children’s faces, by the laughs he shared with Fred as they came up with a new treat, and the coos of his nieces asleep in his arms after Easter dinner. 

Whomever was on the other end of this letter, this “Cherry” which he assumed was a codename, seemed to know just the tiniest part of his soul. He found himself smiling at the thought of a woman for the first time in many moons. 

“Dear Cherry,” his letter began as he completely ignored the growling of his stomach letting him know he needed lunch. The tawny owl was staring at him intently as he put words to paper. 

_Your owl seems to have confused my office for the home of your dear Peaches. Thought I must say, I am not sure he made a mistake. I needed to read your words today. Things have been overwhelming stressful and I have found myself trying to see the forest through the trees. Your letter has helped remind me that the trees are valuable all on their own._

_I like to think I’m the kind of guy who can find joy in most things, but sometimes the pressure to succeed is overwhelming. Work used to just be fun. The fact that it made me money was an added bonus. But now… I don’t know. It feels like work. Like you, I think I’m getting close to the things that make me happy. Maybe I just need you to help change my focus..._

_But, tell me, Cherry. I’m intrigued. How come a woman with a lovely mind like yours hasn’t found herself some passionate love?_

_Sincerely,  
Call me Rhubarb_


	2. Part 2

You were part way through your mug of morning coffee and fully through the work of restocking the shelves before opening. You were just beginning to tackle cataloguing the latest deliveries -- new collections of the adventures of Tiago de Paula, world renowned treasure hunter and ladykiller, by the incomparable Quetzalli Flores, your favorite teacher from your short stint at Castelobruxo -- when the bell above your door rang. You jumped at the unexpected sound, spilling your coffee on the floor behind the counter. Though the ring being a surprise was silly. It was 8:58am, just in time for your shop to open.

“‘Mornin’, boss,” Patricia sung as she swept in. She had her hat and coat on the rack before she even notices your spill. “Need some help with that?” 

You smiled as you moved to the other side of the desk to retrieve your wand and with a quick wave the spill was already forgotten. 

“So,” Patricia said as she took a giant plop into the large armchair that divided the children and adult parts of the store, “What’s got you so jumpy?” 

Without even looking, Patty reached over and took a big swig of the cup of tea she knew you would have sitting there for her. This was your morning routine, lazily stocking shelves and cleaning until the local moms brought around their toddlers for the 10am story session, all the while drinking your morning beverages so slowly they grew cold multiple times over and all the silly personal stories of the previous day were exhausted. You too took your seat beside her, watching as her round halo of curls compressed as she relaxed her head further into the cushions.

“Just didn’t sleep well last night.” 

Patty raised an eyebrow. “Finally had that good night romp with Tom you’ve been craving?” 

The mention of your boyfriend made you feel guilty. Tom hadn’t spent the night in weeks. Or was it months now? And honestly, he hadn’t crossed your mind all morning. You really did need to end it…

“No,” you managed between sips, “Nothing like that.” 

You both sat in silence for a few moments companionably. Patty had this way of simply waiting and always getting the information she wanted. She had the air of a co-conspirator, trusting and easy and a tad bit devious. Just a simple raise of her eyebrows as she sipped her tea always had you talking. 

“Here,” you finally said, handing her two crumpled pieces of parchment from your pocket.

Patty unraveled the first, reading the words and pausing part way. 

“Peaches?” she asked, “Your best friend back in America? Why didn’t you send it?” 

Without meeting her eyes, you said, “I did. Keep reading.” 

You watched Patty through your lashes as she scanned the page and moved to the next. The light of recognition came across her face, then confusion, and then laughter as she folded the letters, finished, in her lap.

“Oh boy! Someone has a secret admirer!” 

“It’s not like that,” you said, “He doesn’t know me. He just knows I’m female and probably a young adult given the content and thought he’d flirt a bit. I mean, he could be some old creep with some weird owl-intercepting fetish for all we know.”

“Well, I think he sounds cute. And he has surprisingly nice handwriting.” 

She stood and began opening the crate containing the latest Flores novels. 

“And,” she said, more to the box than you, “Rhubarb has a point. Why don’t you have a passionate romance? A woman on the verge of an engagement shouldn’t feel that way.” 

You knew she was avoiding your gaze now, worried how you would respond.

You downed the last bit of your coffee. “You’re right,” you said as tears pricked at your eyes, but you swallowed them down. 

Hearing the hiccup, Patty returned to your side. 

“Listen, friend. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you have to rip off the Band-Aid, as the Muggles say. Tom loves you. He wants you happy and if he’s not doing that, then he needs to know. In the meantime, why don’t you go upstairs and respond to Mr. Rhubard and I’ll get the story room ready.” 

“You sure?” 

Patty smiled wide, “Positive.”

You began the trek back towards your office when you heard Patty scream.

“What kind of codename is Rhubarb anyway?” 

You chuckled as you sat down at your desk. Diomedes came to rest on your shoulder almost immediately. 

“Maybe he’s old and sour,” you shouted in return. 

“Or maybe he’s tall, thick, and red,” she cooed seductively. 

“Red?” you teased as you pulled out your parchment, realizing you still needed to send your post to Peaches as well.That was probably why this Rhubarb returned the first letter. What a sweet gesture, you thought. Maybe he wasn’t some creep after all.

“You know,” Patricia called, “Ginger.” 

You laughed once more, shaking your head. Patty knew too well of your weakness for redheads. You mind was running with images of strong, pretty, thoughtful men with soft red locks and freckles across their noses, an image that was vaguely familiar to you somehow. But it was an imagine you liked regardless. 

 

George had been upstairs all day, wanting to intercept any owls before Fred could, not that Fred cared about the post at all. But after that letter he sent, he was feeling more embarrassed than anything. A single letter flies in his window, wording the things his heart had been saying for weeks and he immediately spills his soul out to this unknown woman. He felt foolish and silly, cringing at himself all night about the last line of his letter. 

But Fred had been right. He’d been avoiding women for years now. Since the end of the war, the loss of his ear, and the failed whirlwind couple months with Angelina, he wanted to just focus on himself for a bit. 

A bit quickly expanded into a couple years though and now George found himself desiring something different from his nights. He didn’t just want to be sitting on the couch joking with Lee and drinking beers with his brother. He wanted more.

As time went on, he found himself noticing those signs of love that filled his childhood home; the way Ginny always ran into Harry’s arms when he returned from a long few days away with work, the way Harry clung to the fabric of Ginny’s shirts like she was the only thing tethering him to the world, the way Hermione and Ron teased each other, how a laugh could be so much more than just a sign of humor but an expression of utter peace and contentment, the way Fleur lit up every time she caught Bill’s eyes across the room, and the way Bill lit up every time he heard one of his children say, ‘mama,” and even the way he’d occasionally overhear his parents call each other by ridiculous pet names and exchange soft touches that lifted even the heaviest tension. 

George hadn’t been home in a few weeks. Going home made it insanely obvious that he was indeed alone. 

A knock at the window pulled him from his thoughts and he felt his heart rate increase as the tawny owl from the day before tilted his head to seek entrance. For a moment, George considered not letting the bird in. The inevitable rejection was going to ruin his day. He was sure the letter would contain a right rebuke from the sender, a collection of strung together statements about how truly creepy it was to respond to someone else’s mail and a quick request to cease all contact. 

But ever curious, George opened the window anyway and found attached a letter tied with pretty red string and a loopy, friendly “Rhubarb” upon the scroll. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he opened and read the letter.

_Rhubarb,_

_Thank you for taking the time to send me back my original letter. Peaches would have been very disappointed to not receive my incoherent early morning ramblings. You are a true knight and for that I am grateful._

_In regards to your question, you could say my life is not lacking for love, just not the passionate kind I had hoped for in my youth. But there is always the future. I’m still young and free to explore what the world has to offer._

_I am lucky in some ways. I have an amazing community around me and a family I adore. I moved around a lot as a child, so I have friends on every continent. In that regard, I am never really alone._

_In some ways, I got the adventure I always imagined. I just didn’t know it at the time. Maybe that is the secret to all of this. Life is always filled with the things desire, but only in reflection. Each dream is just an effort to reclaim a feeling we didn’t know was special until it was over._

_So Rhubarb, what are you seeking? What’s your dream? What special feeling are you trying to reclaim?_

_Looking forward to hearing from you again._

_Sincerely,  
Cherry   
ps. Your handwriting is lovely._

 

George was beaming by the time he read those last words. The letter wasn’t anything revolutionary. It didn’t rock his psyche the way the first letter did, but it still spoke to a level of honest and forthright communication his life had been missing. With Fred, everything was a joke, a light-hearted spat, or a source of wonder. Things like anxiety, fear, doubt, and insecurity didn’t exist in the mind of Fred Gideon Weasley. Anytime George mentioned something as simple as a worry resulted in a jab and a chuckle and, most important a change of conversation.

But now, for the first time in quite a long time, someone was asking George what he wanted, what he hoped for, what he feared. Someone, a stranger, cares what he thinks. 

“George!” a voice called from the bottom of the stairs, “Get your rump down here to talk to these real estate people!” 

George sighed and patted the owl on the head. Penning a reply would have to wait. 

 

“And this,” the real estate agent began, all boisterous confidence, “is the building I was thinking for your new workshop. As a storefront, people walking by would be able to see all the cauldrons going. It would be a spectacular for sales, I think.” 

George took in the pretty wooden exterior of the shop just a few doors down from their own. He had never bothered to observe the tiny bookstore housing titles and authors he had never seen before. But the lights inside were warm and inviting. He could see the colorful spines across the oak shelves, all arranged and sorted expertly. Tables covered in stacks of parchment and pens, a counter covered in postcards and gift bags, and plush chairs for reading in every available corner. 

But the thing that caught his eyes right away was the bay window, curtained in plush velvet. And just beyond, in a small wooden chair, he saw that same beautiful face from the night before. Only today there was no scowl but instead an animated expression; eyebrows in the air, mouth wide with wonder, and cheeks full and happy. She held a book in her hand, open to a small circle of young children packed together, their parents hovering and chatting at the counter just beyond. He watched as characters lept from the pages of the story, small sparks and lights stealing the toddlers’ attention. And as the woman bent forward in a mock whisper, he heard the children burst out into laughter. George thought just maybe he had never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“But it isn’t empty,” Fred said in confusion to the real estate agent. 

“Oh, it will be soon,” he responded, with such a dismissive tone that George wanted to spit. 

“Something caught your eye, brother,” Fred called, snapping George from his gaze. When Fred followed George’s line of sight, he sighed. “Ah, just your type.” 

George shook his head and started the walking back to their shop. If they had to buy someone out of their business, did it have to be an enchanting, vibrant woman who knew just how to engage children? 

 

That night, Diomedes finally returned, along with another bird you did not recognize. Diomedes rushed past the snowy owl to find home upon your bed, a letter strung snuggly to his leg. You hated to admit just how curious you were about the letter from Rhubarb but the idea of some mild flirtation, of feeling wanted and stimulated intellectually made you happier than you cared to register. 

You started with Diomedes, who upon being relieved of his parchment flew swiftly into his cage.

_Dear Cherry,_

_May I call you dear? It seems silly to treat you like a stranger given the kind of things I wish to share with you._

_I too can say I am lucky to have what I have. My family is lovely, though I have often been the least remarkable among them. I have never had a moment where I haven’t felt loved and cared for. But what you say is true. The war took a lot from us. I look back on the time before the war with much joy and admiration, though it probably was not as idyllic as I remember._

_I can honestly tell you I am not sure what I want. I have one very strong memory that I go back to when I need positivity: my brother and I flying in our family orchard first thing, teaching our little sister how to fly before our mum noticed she was missing. I guess if I had to put it into words then--_

You were interrupted in your reading by the snowy owl pecking harshly at your hand. 

“Alright, you fearsome devil,” you said to the bird as you pecked the small parchment off its leg, abandoning your letter from the enticing Mr. Rhubarb to your bed. 

This parchment only had a handful of words. 

_Sorry, Y/N. Can’t extend your lease at the current rate. We need a new deposit of 1000 galleons by the 30th or you’ll need to vacate.  
I’m sorry, dear. I really do love your store. _

The signature was scratchy but it was indeed your landlord. You felt your stomach tighten and the tears prick at your eyes. You thought you had more time.

Your only thought was to grab the pillow from against your headboard, press it tightly to your face, and scream, a raw primal scream that let the tension ease from all of your muscles. You screamed a second time for good measure, but a voice pulled your face from the pillow before you could let out a third.

“Babe, is everything okay in there?” Tom asked from his place in your kitchen cooking your dinner. You had forgotten just how much could be heard through your paper thin walls. 

Immediately, you snatched up the letters and stuffed them under your mattress, taking extra caution to make sure the one from a particularly flirty potential suitor was properly tucked away. You just had time to wipe the tears from your eyes as the door cracked open and an adorable head of messy brown locks, one that used to make your heart flutter and now did very little, poked in.

“All good?” he asked.

“Stubbed my toe,” you managed. 

Tom’s eyes raked your body and with a nod in conformation, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Before it even closed, you flung yourself down on the mattress. You knew eventually you’d need to go out there and eat the dinner he prepared and feign interest in the latest economics news, but for now you would lay here in a starfish upon your mattress and fully and sincerely cry.


	3. Chapter 3

_There is nothing as calming as the perfect warm bath. Just hot water and foaming suds that smell like lavender or sage or vanilla. That feeling of the skin of your toes slowly wrinkling and the release of all the tension of your body…_

_When I was in school and playing quidditch, I would often find my body completely bruised and my muscles strained. I was always advised by our nurse to take ice cold baths to help restore by body. I hated them so much. I would sit there soaking, feeling shock in my limbs, and imagine instead a hot spring and the warm sun on my back._

_Now, I take a bath twice a week and imagine still the same thing. My brother thinks a bath is useless unless you’re sharing it with a beautiful woman. I wouldn’t know, but I can’t imagine it would hurt one bit._

_Rhubarb_

You laughed as you sat at your desk, a stake of ten or twelve parchments beside your bed. In the past week, you’ve been exchanging letters with Rhubarb regularly, sometimes multiple times a day. At first, it was serious talk about life direction and feeling passion, but now every time you had a stray thought, an interesting idea, or an odd curiosity, you posted a note to Rhubarb and waited patiently for his reply.

You wrote him about your favorite book. He wrote you about a funny thing his niece did at dinner. You mused to him about how funny the differences between wizards and muggles are in regards to how they handle the rain. He explained to you the stress of importing rare potions ingredients.

You felt like you had found a kindred spirit, a beautiful soul in this world with an entire life and thoughts and hopes to unpack and learn. With Tom, there was no newness anymore, not that novelty was a required part of a healthy relationship. The hope for any true love is to learn each other so deeply that their mind becomes as clear as your own. But you did expect surprise: a bouquet of flowers, a new restaurant to try, a rogue thought given voice that might have you laughing. A relationship should bring you comfort, yes, but when the excitement of the relationship comes slow, the excitement of life should take over.

With Tom, you had comfort in bounds, but at some point along the way, you decided comfort alone was enough.

You heard the ding of Patty entering the shop just as you began to pen a quick note about the comforts of a cup of tea in the morning. She popped her head in and gave you a giant smile.

“Letters from Romeo?” she asked. You shook your head at the teasing but let a smile consume your face regardless.

It was just harmless flirting, you kept telling yourself but you couldn’t pretend you didn’t like the attention.

image  
George stood outside the bookstore just down the road from his shop, staring in that same window he had the week previous, watching the strikingly pretty woman animated tell tales to a small hoard of children and parents.

The real estate agent had said the business was tanking, that kids were spending their money elsewhere, like at his establishment, instead of buying books. He said the landlord had assured him that the current tenant would be out in a month’s time. But George had to see for himself. He had to know what was ending in order for him to succeed. He had to put a face to the situation.

 

And to say he wasn’t just a little bit curious as to what those eyes or that smile might look like when directed at him would be a lie.

He watched and waited under the awning of Madam Malkin’s until the story time ended and the children left, a few with books or puppets in hand. He watched the woman stand, brush out her skirts, shake the hands of the few parents who offered, and have an exaggerated conversation with one, who he assessed must be a regular. With a kiss on the cheek, the last of the customers left, and George, with a shaky, steadying breath, entered the tiny bookstore.

image  
You were cleaning up the small rugs and dolls in your reading nook when a ding at the door pulled your eyes upward.

“Welcome,” you shouted over your shoulder as you continued your cleaning.

At first, all you saw was a mop of red hair, the stacks of new releases blocking your vision. The hair was pretty and striking, wet from the rain with pulled the brown undertones outward. But then he took two steps inward and you saw the face. Weasley.

You did your best to hide your scowl.

He didn’t approach you at first, instead he browsed the shelves. His long hands scanning the spines as he made his way towards the back of the shop. You felt his eyes flick to you every so often. You caught his gaze once and you thought you noticed a small smile on his lips. Of course Weasley would think your humble store is some joke.

“Can I help you with something?” you asked, resting yourself against the counter and watching his movements carefully.

He turned to you in shock, like he had forgotten about your presence. He was holding a book in his hands, a new edition of your favorite book from your childhood, a retelling of the adventures of Merlin and the Knights of the Roundtable, the exact book you had just written to Rhubarb about.

“I… um…” the man began, staring into your eyes for a moment too long before taking quick strides towards your counter. He set down the book between you and outstretched his arm. “Nice to meet you, I’m–”

You cut him off, “Weasley, I know who you are. Is there anything I can help you with?” You didn’t offer your hand in return.

He looked like a kicked puppy, his brow knitted as he pulled his hand back. You had the good sense to feel sorry for your outburst.

“It’s George, actually,” he mumbled.

“George,” you said, taking a breath, trying to undo your anger. It wasn’t like he had ever done anything to you but run a big business that was upping the rents around here. “I’m sorry for my less than warm welcome. Your reputation precedes you a tad.”

“My reputation?”

“You do own that obnoxiously large shop down the road, the one that is filling these children with sugar and creating chaos?”

George blushed and rubbed at the back of his neck. You couldn’t help but think that it was quite a pleasant sight, this adorable man with broad shoulders and nice hands getting nervous at your words. If he weren’t part of your problem, you might actually find him attractive.

“I guess that’s us,” he said. “But we aren’t trying to be a problem, honest. We’re just trying to bring joy to children, just like you.”

You hated to admit that he was right. But then you recalled the nights you walked by, spells bursting from their shop into the street and causing a stir for all the nearby businesses, their quick expansion, and all the times a child launched a prank into your filing cabinets.

“I think I can see your point,” you said, “I just wish you all didn’t have to arm the children.”

George spit out a laugh, “We armed them with wands at eleven. I doubt a couple chocolates at fourteen is what’s going to lead them to lives of crime.”

You laughed too, meeting his eyes as he reclined ever further into the counter. Maybe he was attractive…

“So what can I do for you, George Weasley?” you asked as you watched the corner of his lip lift, revealing a dimple deep in his freckled cheek.

“I just wanted to take a look around. We’re neighbors after all.” George turned his back to you and began browsing the featured tables again which currently displayed collections of young adult romances from a local author who did a signing here a few days ago.

“We are, but we may not much longer,” you admitted.

George froze, his back taut with tension as he held onto the display table.

“Moving shop?” he asked, though his tone made it clear he knew what you were saying.

“Closing, I think. It seems there may be certain businesses willing to pay a higher price for the space.” You lingered on the word businesses just to see if he reacted, but he didn’t. He simple straightened his back.

“Well,” George said, meeting your eyes again and giving you a winning smile, “I think you have a lovely business here. You are amazing with those kids and the parents seem very grateful for you.”

His compliment had you smiling.

“You may think I’m the enemy but I believe in community… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

He was back against the counter again, hovering over you just a little and you felt your breath hitch at the closeness.

“Y/N” you managed.

“Y/N,” he whispered, “Lovely.”

A chill ran down your spine. Your name was butter on his tongue and you loved the sound of it. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, those brown piercing orbs, soft like roasted chestnuts, surrounded by just the lightest wrinkles from years of laughter and joy, freckles covering every inch of his brow bone.

George coughed and you watched the red spread across his neck.

“Just the book,” he said, patting the hardback that sat on the counter between you.

You looked away in embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself.

“A good choice,” you said, reaching for the book to check the prize. Your hand landed on top of George’s and as you pulled the book forward he didn’t pull away. The brush of your fingertips against the back of his hand rose goosebumps on your arm. This man was kinetic, as much as you hated it.

He handed you the sickles your requested and left the store with the book wrapped in parchment paper.

“Thanks for the hospitality, neighbor,” he said at the door before swiftly slipping into the rain.

Before you could even process what had just occurred, Patty popped her head out of the back room.

“And who was that handsome snack?” Her voice had you jumping out of your skin.

“Just a Weasley,” you said, trying to sound dismissive.

“A Weasley you clearly have the hots for!” she said with a smirk as she perched on your counter.

You swatted her off with a cloth, hoping to distract yourself with some dusting. You hated just how right she was.

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George didn’t have words for what just happened as he walked about to his shop. That woman was… enchanting, his mind decided. Feisty and honest but warm and sweet too. And when she touched his hand… that kind of chemistry can’t be created. It just happens. And since Angie, George hadn’t felt that feeling. Years of meeting new people and not one had him so intoxicated as that shopkeeper.

George didn’t even have time to explain when he walked back into Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He simply set his book on the counter and found Fred restocking the shelves.

“We can’t rent that storefront,” he said with confidence, “I simply refuse. We can buy a warehouse in the country, connect it to the Floo network. It’d be inconvenient but–”

“Um,” Fred said, “It may be too late for that…”

And George’s heart sank, not because that beautiful, compelling shopkeeper that he desperately wanted to ask on a date would be out of business, though he didn’t like that one bit either, but because she was now going to believe him to be a con-artist and a trickster, walking into her shop and talking of community while stealing her business from under her.

The only woman who had captured his attention in half a decade was about to hate his guts.

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You were pouring yourself the final glass from your bottle of wine when Tom cut you off.

“Darling, I think you’ve had enough.”

“Not true,” you started to say but lost your balance as you were returning to the couch. Tom caught your arm and helped you recline into the pillows on your end.

“I guess you’re right,” you said with a hiccup.

Tom took a seat in the chair on the other end of the living room.

You reached forward and picked up the letter once again. You had read it maybe fifty times since it arrived. You were hoping though with the alcohol, you might look again and see the words change to something much more pleasant.

You read the words out loud to Tom, “Dear Y/N, A new tenant is ready to take over the lease starting on the first. Please begin move-out proceedings soon unless you can provide me the down payment as discussed.” You threw the letter back on the table. “Nope, still says the same thing.”

Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “I don’t see why you are so upset. You are a capable witch with lots of experience and global knowledge. You could work anywhere. I’m sure the Ministry would love someone like you. Hell, we at Gringotts could use your cultural know-how.”

Maybe it was the drink, but you wanted to punch him.

“This isn’t just a job to me, Tom. This is a dream.”

“And some dreams must come to an end,” he said softly and sweetly, like he was talking to a child, not his girlfriend.

You watched him from your spot on the couch. He picked up the newspaper from your end table and read, completely oblivious to your fuming. In the time since he came over, he had yet to provide you any real comfort and you couldn’t help but think how Rhubarb might behave in this same scenario. He seemed the kind of man who liked hugs. He’d probably be beside you on this couch instead of across the room. He’d pat your head and kiss your cheek and offer to draw you a bath, but only if you promised to drink a glass of water before your next glass of wine. Maybe he’d even join you in that bath, covering your nose in bubbles and making himself a mohawk. He’d dive under the water to kiss your belly and knees and have you in giggles before the water went cold. Maybe by the time you went to sleep, you’d actually feel a little better.

You waited a few minutes just to see if Tom would even look over at you as you cried on the couch.

Finally, as he went to turn the pages to finish his article, his eyes met yours and he seemed to notice your tears for the first time.

He sighed, “This whole rent thing really has you upset, doesn’t it.”

Immediately, you stood. “I’m sorry the loss of my entire life’s work is inconvenient for you!” You turned towards your room and stomped away, only stopping to take the rest of the wine bottle that he had denied you with you.

When you reached the door to your room, you took a giant swig, holding the bottle by the stem.

“Just leave, Tom,” you said over your shoulder. You heard him stand and begin to walk towards you but you didn’t bother to wait. You slammed the door in his face.

“Babe,” he said at the door once you had already tossed yourself on your bed. “Babe?” he said once more, but when you didn’t answer, you heard him sigh once more. “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll let myself out and I’ll see you for dinner this weekend, yes?” Again, you didn’t respond. “I love you,” he said and the silence that followed was deafening.

Once you heard your front door close, you downed the rest of your bottle and made for your desk. Diomedes was nice and patient upon his perch for you. You couldn’t bring a pen to paper fast enough.

_Hey Rhubarb,_

_Want to meet?_

_Cherry_


	4. Chapter 4

“So let me get this straight,” Fred said, tossing back the rest of his beer and slamming the bottle down on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees and eyed his brother with intensity. “You’ve been sending love letters–”

“I wouldn’t call them love letters.”

“Love letters,” Fred emphasized. “Love letters multiple times a day for weeks to a woman you’ve never met but who sounds perfect for you, after years of never being interested in a single woman who’s come your way, and now she wants to meet you and you are just now thinking it is a good time to tell me?”

George was looking at the palm of his hands, still holding your latest letter, Want to meet?, the simplest note in that adorable pen that had his heart completely constricted.The hand that moved so fluidly to create those letters was attached to the body of a woman whose mind had already captured his imagination. A dreamer, a lover, a thinker, a hopeful soul, a soul so much fit for his own. Each word you had shared was easy and each idea novel and intriguing. He spent his nights this past week fantasizing about the face smiling upon reading his words; a bright smile that pulled at one side, soft, warm skin, and eyes that twinkled in mischief much like his own. When he’d try to place details within, he’d occasionally recall the specifics of that cute shopkeeper down the road, but honestly that was all he had to work with as far as pretty young woman who’d captured his eye in recent years.

But thinking of the book store owner was of no use. She hated him now. And if she didn’t yet, she sure was about to.

Bill chimed up, interrupting George from his all-consuming thoughts.

“Of course he didn’t tell you. He needs someone to be thoughtful about this.”

Bill offered George a smile before taking a seat.

“You have to go, George. You have to see what this is, even if just to remind yourself that it is worth putting yourself out there. Even if there isn’t a single spark in person, you’ll have tried.”

George crumpled the note a little in his hands, “But what if she’s nothing like I imagine her? What if this is all just some big joke and I’m going to find Lee sitting at some nice steakhouse laughing his ass off about me bearing my heart to some stranger via owlpost.”

Bill sighed and locked eyes with Fred. Fred only shrugged, confirming that indeed George had been like this since the letter arrived.

Bill rotated his chair to face George fully.

“Can I confess something to you?”

George looked up from his hands to meet his older brother’s gaze. He was earnest, almost apologetic in his expression.

“Sure, shoot.”

“When I first met Fleur,” Bill began, “I felt that connection, the kind you’ve been describing, immediately. But she was so young still and culturally we were from completely different worlds. It just seemed so unbelievable that whatever was between us could become something real. But one day she simply walked into my office and said,” he coughed as he prepared to mimic his wife’s accent, “‘William Weasley, ‘ou are taking me on a date zis Saturday and I won’t hear another word against it.’ And she didn’t even wait for me to respond. She just turned on her heels and left. Once that door shut behind her, I knew that moment I had found the woman I’d marry someday.”

Bill paused, swirling his beer a little before taking another swig. He smiled at his brother as he played with his wedding band and finished, “She put herself out there. She was braver than I was ever willing to be about us. I know you, George. You are brave and bold and brash, just like me. And you need a woman who will be, too. She’s putting herself out there. She’s being brave. All you have to do is say yes.”

George looked down at the crinkled note in his palm, those three words that had caused him so much anxiety since your bird had landed on his window sill late in the night. What he had seen before as a ton of pressure he now saw for what it was, an act of pure courage. And his response to your boldness, to you risking your pride and self-esteem to see what might be, was cowardice.

George unfolded the paper, smoothing out the corners as he stood.

“I think I need to go pen a letter now,” he said with a swallow. “And Bill, thanks.”

And he immediately fled for his study.

“Hey,” Fred called, standing from the couch, “Do you not want to hear my advice.”

George chuckled, “Think I’m good, mate,” as he doubled his stride.

Fred slumped back down against the couch before looking at Bill with real fire.

“Think he’s going to make a fool of himself?”

Bill took a moment to think as he finished his beer.

“Big time.” And then he paused and added, “She’s gonna love it.”

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You name the time and place. I’ll be there.

Rhubarb

You had just finished up afternoon story time when the latest letter arrived. It was simple and to the point, something new from your mystery man. But you did respect that he was giving you control, allowing you to find an option that made you feel safe and comfortable.

The smile was still plastered on your face when you heard the door chime and in walk a greasy looking man in a well-cut suit accompanied by two men in overalls carrying clipboards. You only heard the tale end of what he was saying.

“… And Mr. Weasley was very specific. These shelves need to be divided with thick wood and glass. Ingredients cannot contaminate each other. In the front, he’s requested…”

You were seeing red as the man moved through your shop like he owned the place, pointing at your fixtures and shaking his head. You marched over before you could even process.

“May I help you?” you said, your voice turning sickly sweet, all venom to anyone who took the time to read your expression. He was not one of those men.

“Ah, Ms. L/N, I was told you would not be on the premises today.”

“As this is my store, and we are open today, I am uncertain as to where else you expected me to be,” you spat as you crossed your arms.

He at least had the good sense to see a little embarrassed.

“Well, um, then let me introduce myself, I’m Thaddeus Hayes. I work real estate for these parts. I was told today would be a good day to bring my contractors around to plan the renovations for the space once you have vacated but I see now I was misinformed.”

You were fuming now, rage tightening all the muscles of your neck.

You began, trying to keep your voice cool but failing miserably, “It seems, sir, that you have been misinformed about a number of things, the first of which is the certainty that I am vacating this space at all.”

He laughed, “Given the empty state of this place at the moment, I think your landlord was right in informing myself and my clients that you would be gone by the end of the month.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. But you didn’t need to. He knew he was right.

You felt a calming hand on your shoulder. Patty, who had been working in the back office, must have heard the commotion and come to investigate.

“Do you intend to make a purchase, sir?” she said, her hand tightening on your shoulder to avoid raising her tone as well.

“No, no,” Thaddeus said with a mock smile, “I see I’ve come at a bad time.” He turned with a swish of his coat tails and made for the door. As he reached for the handle, he said to you with a smile, “If you need to find a new place, a smaller, more price-appropriate place, I do have a few connections with storefronts in Knockturn, my dear. Don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

You scoffed and were about to shout out an explicative when Patty stops you. Her grip was white-knuckled upon your arm.

As the door was closing, you heard Hayes say to his companions, “At least that little preview should give you enough to talk to the Weasley’s and begin….”

Patty’s voice was like air, “Did he just say Weasleys?”

You slammed for fist into the counter, turning out of your friend’s hold. Your knuckles throbbed with the impact, but it didn’t stop you from doing it again.

“I knew it! Those– I knew.”

You lifted your arm to hit the counter one more time but Patty restrained you. She cooed softly in your ear, pulling you down into the comfy chair in which you took your morning coffee. Patty kneeled at your feet and led you to breath more steadily.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she finally said after a moment.

And she was right. What did it matter if it was George Weasley or George Harrison who was buying your store out from under you. You still didn’t have the money to keep it open either way.

And then your heart filled the void. You were attracted to the man, hoped maybe a spark might be… you shut the thoughts down before they could continue. You were already angry with yourself. No need for more punishment.

“Rhubarb wants to meet,” you said, trying to redirect yourself to something more pleasant. Patty lit up with a smile.

“See? Silver linings.”

You laughed. A simple dinner was not a silver lining to losing your livelihood. But it did give you a lift of your spirits.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah.”

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You had picked the place. Ophelia’s, the cute little Greek cafe on the other side of London, among the muggles where anonymity was guaranteed. The last thing you needed was one of Tom’s co-workers at Gringott’s seeing you on a date with another man… Not that this was a date. It was just a casual meeting. A nice evening with a potential friend.

That’s the lie you told yourself over and over on the journey down here.

You held a book in your hands, your favorite collection of King Arthur’s tales. The same one George Weasley had purchased, though you tried to keep that thought away, and you wore a white blouse, each to help Rhubarb find you at your table among the rest of the patrons. You watched the clock, just five more minutes until he would arrive.

Five more minutes until you would see the face behind those beautiful words. Five more minutes until you could tell someone about what was going on in your life and hear a supportive, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.” Five minutes until you’d laugh for the first time today. Just five minutes.

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George stood outside pacing. He didn’t want to be early but he was just so nervous. He had called in reinforcements in the form of Bill and Fred.

“Calm down, you’re even making me nervous!” Fred said, grabbing his brother by the arms.

George was wearing his favorite jacket, a woolen knit with elbow patches that pulled out the caramel of his eyes. Some may find it stuffy but to George, it was classic and cozy and very him.

He took a steadying breath and met his twin’s gaze.

“You’re on the pitch. You’re pumped. You’re club arm is strong. You are ready for anything to be thrown at you. You are a fighter, a champion, and you have nothing to fear from anyone ever, got it?”

George laughed, “That’s the same speech I gave you before that match against that Ravenclaw girl you’d been snogging sixth year, right?”

“Pretty much.”

George laughed again but it quickly morphed into a shaky breath. This time Bill piped up in support.

“How about I pop a head in and take a look? At least let you know what you’re getting into?”

George only nodded, but when Bill was almost at the entrance he said, “Large book, white blouse.” Bill nodded in confirmation before entering.

Bill leaned himself back against the brick facade, so confused as to why he was feeling this tightness. He wasn’t a man who lacked confidence. He was the life of the party, a laugh and a half in his hayday. But the war and the realities of life had made him a bit more reserved, especially with matters of the heart. Was he really ready for this, to open himself up to another person the way Ginny, Ron, and Bill had? Was he cut out for that kind of love?

After a moment, the door opened and George turned to see a giant smile on Bill’s face.

“That bad?” George asked. Bill just laughed.

“She’s gorgeous, George. Exactly your type. Definitely has that sexy librarian thing going on that you love and she smiled at me and I got to say, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Let me see,” Fred said, making for the window of the door himself.

“Though I feel like I’ve seen her before…” Bill mumbled before shaking his head. He picked up his tone, “Seriously, go get your girl, brother.”

“Um, guys,” Fred said from the door with a grimace on his face.

“You can’t tell me you think she’s ugly,” Bill teased before seeing how serious Fred’s face was.

“Oh, Merlin no. She’s stunning. But I also thought she was stunning when we saw her last week. I distinctly remember Georgie here swooning.”

Last week? Swooning? George’s brain was racing and then all at once his heart sank.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” was all Fred could say in return.

As George ran to press his face to the window, Bill called out to his brothers, “Care to fill me in?”

But George saw here, the rich inviting eyes and pleasantly happy cheeks, that nose that he just wanted to pinch and those damned kissable lips being pulled between those two front teeth. You were his Cherry. The woman who captured his heart on paper and captured his eyes in person were one in the same. His dream woman before him, waiting for him, but hating him all the same.

He was muttering no to himself over and over, pulling his hair through his hands like a crazed man. He couldn’t stop pacing. How could so much go right and wrong all at once. Everything he ever wanted, right there and his if he weren’t such a fool.

“She’s that shopkeeper, the one whose lease we’re taking over,” Fred informed Bill.

George took a breath. Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought. Maybe she understood that business was business. Maybe she wouldn’t be so shocked to see his face. Maybe, just maybe, she had felt what he had when their hands touched over the book the other day.

George took two great big strides before pushing past Fred and into the restaurant. He saw you more clearly now, your nose a little too close to the pages as you read, the fingers of one hand drumming slowly against the wood of the table as you reached forward to take a sip of your water. Your legs were buried under the table cloth and he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if they were crossed or uncrossed, how they were clothed, and if your shoe was hanging lazily off the tips of your toes.

As if you felt his staring, your eyes snapped from your book to meet his. He thought he saw a softness in your eyes, something akin to affection, but when he smiled at you, you lips turned into a scowl quick like lightning. He felt a vice grip in his stomach.

Still he took his steps forward as you closed the book in front of you and crossed your arms in a full on defensive.

“Great book you’ve got there.”

You didn’t take the bait. Instead you just tapped the cover and waiting for him to continue.

“Thanks again for my copy. I finished it yesterday and I feel like I have a whole new appreciation for British history and culture now.”

“Good for you,” you said, your voice ice. You took a big gulp of your wine, never breaking eye contact.

George grabbed the back of the chair across from you, hoping you might let him sit, might let him explain, but you raised an eyebrow in challenge and so he thought better of it.

Godric, did you have to be so sexy when you were mad at him? He gripped the chair back hard in an effort to prevent himself from kissing that scowl right off your face, from sliding his tongue across your lips until he turned that huff of yours into a glorious moan.

“Waiting for a date?” he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Or is it that hard to believe I might have one, Weasley? Or are you just that determined to destroy all the good things in my life?”

“Who’s the lucky man?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

He watched the smile pull at your lips as you tried to maintain your anger, “Just a guy I’ve been talking to. But he’s kind and funny and incredibly engaging. And he has a soul, a real deep compassionate heart, unlike you.”

That cut deeper than he expected, hearing you love on him and hate on him simultaneously. He wasn’t sure he would be able to recover.

“Listen, Y/N, we never meant to…”

“Save the speech, Weasley,” you said, dropping your wine glass back down unceremoniously before meeting his eyes again. “I know your type, the kind of guy who gets a little bit of success and lets it all go to his head. The kind of guy who completely forgets what it is like to have something small but meaningful because you’ve been swimming in money for years and years, the kind of who values efficiency and production over human interaction. I know you. He’ll, I’m practically married to one of you,” that last sentence had you laughing with glee, though George couldn’t understand why.

“You’re all the same. So don’t try to tell me that if you’d have known it was my shop or if you had seen x, y, or z beforehand, things would be different, because let’s be honest, they wouldn’t. Your business comes first and if us little people drown, so be it. Don’t pretend you have a conscious just because you can now put a face to your destruction, okay? Just let me read in peace.”

George didn’t know what to say. There really was nothing to say. You had him pegged.

The last five years of his life had been just what you said, about expanding his business and counting his money and building an empire that might sustain him in his old age. When they initially started looking into storefronts, offering up absurd sums of money to kick of other tenants, he hadn’t thought about the human effect of all of it. He should have, but he didn’t.

But wasn’t that all the more proof that he needed you? An equalizing factor in his life to help him focus on what really matters? Someone with whom to enjoy the small stuff so the big stuff wouldn’t consume him? He needed love. He needed you. Feisty, honest, thoughtful you to put him in his place. 

And in an effort to try and fix things, he decided to walk away.

With a simple nod to you, he turned and walked out the door, past his brothers and into the alley before aparating to the only place he could think to go, to the Burrow and the mother who raised him to be a better man, the kind who you might look upon with fondness.

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Three hours you sat there waiting for Rhubarb but no one ever came, no one but that god-awful Weasley with his deliciously masculine scent and beautiful freckles that cover an insanely punchable nose.

Your face was a mess of tears now. You felt completely stupid. You couldn’t manage a business. You couldn’t manage your love life. And now here you were stood up for a date with a complete stranger, one you had your heart fully invested in like a fool.

You hit the buzzer one more time, hoping that maybe your persistence would be enough to get a response.

Just as you were turning the leave, the apartment door opened. Patricia stood before you in her bathrobe and her curls secured in a silk head wrap.

Once she saw your face, she opened her arms for a hug.

Once enveloped in your best friend’s hold, you felt a wave of confidence pour through you, the hopeless feeling morphing into a newfound determination.

You were going to see that smirk smacked right off Weasley’s face if it was the last thing you ever did.

“We’re raising that money, Patty. We aren’t going down without a fight.”


End file.
